Rick Santorum suited up for a game of old-time 1870s baseball in Urbandale. (Mary Chind/The Register)

When first baseman Rick Santorum stepped up to home plate on Sunday, he knew what he was up against.

In the game of presidential politics (perhaps America’s other pastime), Florida’s move to bump up its GOP primary date to January effectively shifted the rest of the nomination process up to the seventh inning. Suddenly, the contest seems down the wire.

Santorum, a former Pennsylvania senator and presidential candidate, played in a historical game of 1870s old-time baseball at Living History Farms in Urbandale. He wore the grey wool uniform of the Walnut Hill Baseball Club, the home team, with a “WH” stitched across the chest.

Before he suited up for Walnut Hill’s afternoon game (versus the Red Baseball Club of Campbell), Santorum acknowledged the Iowa caucuses’ new date played more to the advantage of polling frontrunners like Mitt Romney, a former Massachusetts governor, and Rick Perry, the governor of Texas.

“I think it was, no question about it, it was to the benefit of the leading candidates,” he said. “It takes a game that’s 60 minutes and turns it into 45 minutes, and if you’re ahead, then of course you’d like the game to be played tomorrow.”

While Santorum has pulled single digits in every Iowa poll so far, there is talk of a comeback. His surprise win at the last debate in an immigration match-up against Perry, combined with Minnesota Rep. Michele Bachmann’s waning support from social conservative fans in Iowa, may pit Santorum as a wild card.

But the field’s competition for him is ever-present, even in the 1870s.

Cameras awaiting Santorum’s uniformed debut on the field were disappointed when a player from the opposing team emerged instead.

“I’m further right than Santorum, so you don’t want to vote for me,” said the silver-haired player. “I’m a Ron Paul guy.”

The rules of 1870s baseball are a little different. A batter – or “striker,” as they were called – can ask for a high or low pitch, thrown underhanded. If a hit ball is caught off the first bounce, the batter is out.

Santorum asked for a high pitch and made decent contact with the ball. It was caught off the bounce – an out.

Maybe he was just showing humility.

“It was not considered sporting to hit home runs (back then),” said Santorum, who calls himself a baseball historian. “Ruth changed the entire game.”

Returning to the field in a later inning, Santorum redeemed himself by outing a batter with a catch at first. Another chance at bat for him ended in a pop fly – another out.

Santorum returned to the bench where an aide handed him a brown bottle of old-fashioned Sarsaparilla soda.

“I’m gonna need the real stuff pretty soon,” he said.

Santorum’s director leaned over and told him they had a pro-life rally to get to in an hour. He’d have one last chance at bat.

With a mix of flustered smile and stern focus, Santorum – in the familiar role of underdog – returned to the plate.

“Strike well, senator!” yelled a teammate.

Santorum choked up and motioned with his bat for a high pitch. The ball was lobbed.

Santorum swung and spun, turning in a circular motion as the ball flew past.

He went on to receive his third and final out.

“Ah, come on!” Santorum yelled, throwing his bat to the ground. He then apologized, fearing he set bad example for the children present.

Still, despite his outs, some Iowans watching the game were impressed.

“He’s good in the field,” said Leo Landis, who umpired the game in a period top hat and jacket. “His performance, while I know he’s disappointed, isn’t unusual for a first-time player.”

“He seems very disciplined, very focused, like he would be a good leader,” said Robert Gray, an independent voter from West Des Moines. “I think he wants to win.”